Oh, Brother
by captainodonewithyou
Summary: Lieutenant Duckling AU in which Emma and Killian meet at a dance in honor of her 18th birthday (nagged persistently by Emma's brother). Later, Killian and Liam are off to Neverland on a quest for King George that goes very, very wrong. (by bri)


So I had this headcanon about grown baby Snowing looking like Chris Evans and it led to thinking about how things would be if both Emma and her brother were born in the Enchanted Forest a year apart and it sort of morphed into this LD AU with the inclusion of Emma's lil brother. I'm thinking it's gonna be around 4 parts, depending on popularity and readers and such. I hope you enjoy, let me know what you think!

* * *

"You are so lucky you're you," Emma moaned, sinking dramatically back into her sheets, arms and still-drying golden curls splayed out about her. She didn't particularly want to get up for the rest of the night, dress already cutting off her air supply uncomfortably.

Her brother snorted.

"The poor Princess, forced to go to a ball in her honor where every single man wants nothing but her," he cooed mockingly, and she grabbed a pillow as she sat up, chucking it at his nose. Her aim faltered slightly and it smacked his chest before landing at his feet.

"I'm not joking, Daniel," she groaned, running an anxious hand through her hair and forcing herself to her feet, across the room to her mirror. "God, I have to wear this corset all night. And dance with all of them! Even the perverts, and pretend to like it!"

She could feel him roll his eyes as she faced the mirror, running a hand down the front of her dress. She still remembered picking out the fabric with her mother, weeks earlier, as if it had been mere days.

"It's not like they're making you _pick anyone_, though," he reasoned, coming up behind her and tugging one of her curls gently, "Once I turn 18 it'll be a race to get me a girl," he winked good naturedly and a little pang of guilt tugged at Emma's stomach.

She didn't have to pick anyone, but the interest in her wouldn't be as longstanding as it would for the heir. She kept it to herself, instead forcing herself to shrug softly as she scooped her hair from her neck, carefully twisting it up onto her head.

"Hand me my comb?" she asked, and when he did she pinned it into her locks, only letting go when she was sure it was secure. She let out a soft breath.

"Ready, then?" he asked, and met her eyes in their reflection with a reassuring smile.

"Not really," she snorted, and he rolled his eyes. The blue in them was brought piercingly out by the dark navy jacket he wore, and she was certain he would be the most handsome at the ball.

Of course, she didn't dare tell him that.

He held his elbow out to her, and she rolled her eyes and took it.

"Mom set you up to this," she stated, and he chuckled as he led her to the door.

"Dad," he corrected, "And I'm pretty sure I'm at least preferable to the perverts."

She snuck to the gardens after the second dance, slipping between folds of sparkling dresses and starched coats with her head bowed until she'd reached the door. She'd been thoroughly impressed with her success, completely expecting her mother's voice to call her sharply back to the thick of things. Thank God she hadn't.

Her cheeks were warm and her lungs aching, and the cool outside air that washed over her was a gentle relief to both. She inhaled slowly and deeply as she approached a bench—well hidden in the limbs of her favorite willow— slipping her feet from her shoes and padding barefoot across the cool moist ground till she reached it. When she sat she hesitated only a moment before giving in and pulling her legs up, folding them beneath her and her skirts and leaning her head back to the sky, just breathing the fresh air.

She sat there probably longer than she should have, relishing the temporary freedom and quiet. She knew she needed to be headed back soon, sure that her parents were looking already, and she stretched her neck back further in a final reach to freedom, before—

"Are you a swan, then?" she started as a lilting voice spoke teasingly beside her. She swung her head back upright to face the owner of the voice, who was just feet in front of her, slightly in the shadows. She hadn't even heard him approach.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked, trying to ignore the way her heart seemed to be trying to race out of her chest.

The stranger stepped towards her, enough out of the shadows now that she could just make out his navy uniform and tousled black hair. A smug smirk tugged at his lips, and her muscles tensed further when she met his shockingly blue eyes, glinting in the moonlight.

"I could ask you the same," he answered lightly, and there was something about his indifference that made her heart race. Not many would dare speak back to the princess the way he did. She suspected that he may have been unaware of exactly who she was.

Strangely, she couldn't say it particularly bothered her.

"I don't like dancing," she answered bluntly, shrugging her shoulders and untangling her legs from beneath her, "And it's hot. Your turn."

A smirk tugged at his lips and she lifted herself off the bench, bare toes again sinking into the moist ground. She had no intention of retrieving her shoes before returning to the dance, and she tried to ignore them, still splayed in the grass where she'd left them.

"My reasons are the same," he told her, and his eyes followed her gaze to her shoes before he grinned again and met her eyes. "Alas, a gentleman shan't allow a lady to remain partnerless. Shall we, Swan?" he dramatically offered her his arm and she rolled her eyes.

"That's not my name," she said, but stepped forward, hesitating only slightly before taking his arm, heart thudding against her chest.

"Aye, well, it suits you," he answered, and glanced down at her, "Will your slippers be joining us, then?"

She didn't answer, instead starting towards the castle doors, dragging the (dashing) idiot lieutenant along behind her.

As soon as they passed through the doors, the dizzying noise and smell and color began to suffocate her. She tightened her hold on the lieutenants arm inadvertently, only vaguely realizing that she didn't even know his name. She felt his soft eyes on her as he led her through the thick crowd before he turned to face her.

"May I have this dance, milady?" he asked with a faintly sarcastic smile and eyes wide, but tinged with an irresistible puppy-like hope that she was sure he didn't intend on being there.

He had absolutely no idea who she was and it was enough to make her bite back giggles. He didn't notice, and she reached up to curl her fingers around his shoulder, finding his hand with her other and tangling her fingers in his.

"Yes," she whispered loudly, and God she loved making him smile. His hand came to her waist, fingers pressing thrillingly into her side, closing gently around her, and he was just about to start moving when—

"May I cut in?"

Daniel was at his shoulder, all decidedly less pretty blue eyes and devious smirks and she swore she could've _killed_ him as the lieutenant ducked away obediently, offering her only a regretful raise of the eyebrow.

"Later, then," he told her with a wink, before he was gone.

Daniel's hand replaced the previous warmth on her waist and she fixed him with the most piercing glare she could manage.

"Damn you," she hissed, and the grin he responded with told her he knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

Asshole.

"I'm looking out for my sister!" he defended with a less-than-apologetic smirk, and she gently shoved his shoulder where her hand was settled.

"God, Daniel, one decent guy," she hissed, "All night!"

"Who, Jones?" he raised his eyebrows dubiously and her heart thudded against her chest.

"You know him?" she cried, and lowered her voice when several heads turned their way and Daniel's eyebrows shot up even further. "I've never seen him in my life!"

"You wouldn't have," he answered, brow furrowing further as he trained her with his trademark look of amused cynicism, "He's Lieutenant of the Jewel of the Realm. King George's kingdom. His brother is the Captain, I met them the last summer I spent there."

"He had no idea who I was," she said, and then half-tried to cover a snort by bowing her head to the side. Her mother was trying nobly to break the ("terribly unladylike") habit, but Emma, of course, found it impossible.

"I'm so telling mom," Daniel informed her, and this time she stomped on his foot… only to remember her slightly problematically naked feet. She froze, and slowly dragged her gaze back up to Daniel, who was staring at her bare foot with such blatant done-ness that she almost snorted again. "So. Telling. Mom," he repeated, before meeting her eyes with faux seriousness that almost immediately melted into a chuckle.

"I hate you," she told him with a sigh and a roll of her eyes.

"I know," he grinned, and tousled her hair before disappearing into the crowd, surely in search of food, or pretty girls, or really anything but their mother.

Emma was sure she'd danced with every man in the room at least once. Her lungs felt compressed and her cheeks warm and she wanted nothing more than to kick back her feet and tear out of the too-tight dress but no one was leaving and the ball was far from over.

She'd been near the front with her father, meeting people, for what felt like hours but was probably only about ten minutes. Something about the dress and pomp of it all seemed to literally take time firmly from either end and stretch it out beyond repair. Emma had never been particularly patient, though, and it made balls of all types endlessly unbearable.

"You're getting snippy, Emma," her father told her behind a smile as he nodded at the last guests they'd met— some sort of Duke and his son, from a neighboring kingdom. Emma hadn't been paying particularly close attention to his name, too focused on the way the son's eyes focused on the jewels that hung low around her neck.

"I'd rather be riding," she answered with an equally cheery disposition, and her father shook his head, not bothering to hide the amused twinkle that lit his eyes.

"Your mother's daughter through and through," he told her, and she glanced up as two men, dressed in navy attire, stepped towards them.

"Milady," the older of the two bowed his head. He seemed to be a Captain, judging by his badges. "I'm Captain Liam Jones, of King George's Naval fleet. This is my lieutenant and brother, Killian Jones."

Her eyes drifted to the slighter, younger man beside him, and her stomach flopped unexpectedly when they met wide, deep blue. He was the man from the gardens, she was certain.

Killian Jones.

His shocked wide eyes told her he recognized her, as well, and he scrambled to bow.

"Swan," he began, "I mean, Princess…"

His cheeks were burning red and Emma bit hard on the inside of her lip to keep from laughing. She could just feel her father's confusion beside her, and she was sure he was moments from disapproval.

"I told you Swan wasn't my name," she offered, and now his whole face vaguely resembled a turnip and she couldn't contain a little snort of laughter.

"Emma?" her father interceded in her truly awful badgering, and she again bit her lip to try to force the smile off of her face. It wasn't working, and Liam was giving his brother the most horrified look and suddenly Emma felt terrible.

"You never did give me my dance, lieutenant, after my brother so rudely interrupted," she said cautiously, and he bowed his head again, just slightly. "A gentleman shouldn't allow a lady to remain partnerless," she recited, and warmth bubbled in her stomach when it won her a smile.

"If the lady insists," he answered, staring at her between his eyelashes almost shyly, eyes just as piercing as ever. He hesitantly offered her his arm, and Emma nodded at her father before taking it. He was still looking fairly lost, brow furrowed, but shook his head with quiet amusement as she turned to follow the lieutenant— Killian Jones— on to the dance floor.

He was stiff, now, when he held her waist and took her hand. He could hardly even meet her eyes and she chewed the inside of her lip for a while before speaking.

"I liked you better when you didn't know I was the princess," she told him blatantly, holding his fleeting gaze, only half-hoping he might smile. There was unsureness rooted in the blue of his eyes, now, and she was sure a smile was out of the question.

"Aye well, that'd be because you're the bloody Princess, I'd say," he answered stiffly, and she drew her mouth into a tight line.

"That's not fair," she finally forced the words across her lips, and he tensed further but didn't answer. "God, look, I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. I didn't mean to. It was just kind of nice to be treated like a person, for once," she stopped dancing, untwisting her fingers from his and dropping her arms to her side. His expression remained guarded, but she thought that maybe she caught a flash of pity.

Of course.

She was turning to walk away when warm fingers captured her wrist. She paused, and turned slowly to meet his cautiously sparkling eyes.

"Right then, _Swan_," he sighed and muttered, putting emphasis on the nickname and allowing one of his heart stopping smirks to tug at the corner of his lips, "I do believe I owe you a proper dance."

And if her heart stuttered every time he so much as looked at her, well, she certainly didn't give him the satisfaction of knowing.

"So, a Lieutenant under your brother?" she asked, peering cautiously around them for signs of her parents before swiping a glass of champagne from the table and taking a sip. When the dance had ended she hadn't let go of his hand, ducking to the side and off of the floor, "I'm sure that isn't awkward at all."

He smirked and in one smooth gesture slipped the glass from her fingers and threw it back, before meeting her eyes with faux seriousness, "I am shockingly aware that this is your 18th year," he informed her sarcastically, "Perhaps since that's what this whole bloody dance is in honor of."

She glared at him and reached for another glass, rewarded with a dramatic eye roll. She smirked at him before taking a long draw, holding his gaze firmly the whole time and trying not to laugh and spew it all over him. She swallowed hard, somehow managing not to to choke over the thousands of teensy bubbles, and he sighed.

"Are you always this much trouble, love?" he asked, sounding resigned and not moving to take her second glass.

"Do you always avoid people's questions?" she answered, and he shook his head as he reached for his own glass and then took her arm, leading her decidedly away from the alcohol and to another unoccupied patch of floor, near a post in the corner of the room.

"Much better," he smirked as he leaned his shoulder on the post, facing her. They were close— probably closer than what her mother would consider proper— but the challenge lit in her stomach and made her heart pound and she took another draw of her champagne, refusing to back down.

"Brother," she reminded him with a raise of her eyebrows, and he nodded, smirk never faltering.

"I rather like it," he told her, and despite his smirk she could hear the honesty ringing in his words, "He's a right pain in the arse, but I'd never wish to serve under another Captain."

His eyes softened when he talked about his brother, to something even more vulnerable than he already was, and it made something in Emma feel warm and safe despite the racing of her heart.

"What about you then? You have a brother, as well," his brow was furrowed in genuine curiosity and she smiled.

"Ugh."

"He's who interrupted us earlier?" he tried to clarify, and she nodded before finishing off her glass.

"He's an idiot," she said through her swallow, and Killian smiled.

"He actually is rather adept at sailing," he informed her, and she nodded again because he loved the ocean and sailing and she was sure that if he heard the Lieutenant's compliment he'd probably— no, he'd certainly— swoon.

Killian was quiet, then, searching her face with open admiration, so much so that she wondered if he was even aware of just how wide and clear his eyes were to her. It only made her heart pound harder against her chest, as if it was trying to escape. No one ever looked at her the way he was now, and it made warmth flutter in the pit of her stomach.

She jumped when a clammy hand closed on her shoulder, simultaneously taking a step away from Killian and turning to face the owner of the hand. It took her a moment to place him as the son of the Duke her and her father greeted earlier, only realizing as his fingers slipped down her arm and closed possessively around her wrist, where the silver bracelet her mother had lent her rested against her hand.

"Dance, princess?" he asked, except for his voice came out a little more like a demand as he gave her a little tug towards the floor and she stumbled, bare feet tangling in the fabric of her dress. She didn't even have time to be concerned.

"Oi," suddenly Killian was between them, his own hand closing more gently, higher on her forearm, "Traditionally, mate, you wait for an answer," he told him, voice icy. The man turned slightly to face them, single brow shooting up.  
"Traditionally, mate," he snapped, lip curling, "The princess gives her time to men closer to her… status."

"Excuse me?" she hissed, feeling Killian tense in front of her. She tugged her arm and Killian's grasp loosened, but the man only squeezed tighter.

"Princess, I must insist you join the… higher classes," the man continued, voice tense, and this time she snapped her arm back so hard that when she pulled free, she stumbled backwards and nearly toppled down. But familiar hands closed around her shoulders, holding her upright.

"Is there a problem?" Daniel's voice came from behind her and god she'd never been happier to hear him.

"Your highness," the man gave a half bow of his head, and Emma was pleased to note his cheeks painted lightly red. "I was just trying to help the princess join a more… suitable… crowd," he said, then bowed his head again. Daniel kept his hand on her shoulder and Killian snorted, mumbling something about "helping," and "arses" before turning to offer his own slight bow, somehow managing to look thoroughly inconvenienced but still respectful.

"I experienced something a touch more physical, your highness, as I'm quite sure your sister will agree," he glowered sideways at the man.

"Shall I get father?" Daniel asked, tone masking the threat, and the man turned white as a sheet.

"That won't be necessary," he sputtered, wide eyes flitting between the three of them, "I was just… on my way."

Daniel nodded in agreement, "As I thought."

Emma tried not to laugh as the man stumbled off into the crowd, and Daniel was already turning her to face him, concern obvious as he looked her carefully up and down.

"Are you alright?" he asked, brow furrowed seriously.

"Yes," she rolled her eyes, shrugging his hand off her shoulder, "Daniel," she moaned as he grabbed her arm, examining her wrist. "Dan, I'm fine," she drew out the words fine until her released her arm, glowering at her.

"You're welcome," he muttered sarcastically, and she rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulder as he glanced over hers towards where Killian was standing. "Here's your escape," he stage whispered, and Emma shoved him again before turning to face Killian.

"Thank you," she told him, and Daniel sputtered something about "sisters" before sulking away.

There was still a tinge of annoyance in his eyes, but they softened considerably when they met hers.

"Aye, well," he muttered, "Don't have much patience for blokes like him."

She smiled when his eyes met hers with that ridiculous cautious hope, idea beginning to form.

"My friends and I, we were gonna go to the tavern tonight, once the dance was over."

She hadn't intended on taking Ruby and Tink up on the offer, sure the last thing she'd want after she'd finally escaped was to go back into it, but…

"Would you like to come along?"

He grinned and she was a goner.


End file.
